I recently returned home from a two-week visit to Buenos Aires, Argentina—a trip I took with my eldest son, Mike, who throughout the years has expressed an interest in my birthplace. He has an avid interest in history, geography, and economics. It was like putting puzzle pieces together for him—attempting to understand the various aspects of Argentina in light of my experience. What was it like living in a “foreign” country? Did I have friends? Who were they? What were they like? How did we, the family (parents, 4 children—the 5th was born much later), get along?
My parents were American, Protestant missionaries. They met at Moody Bible Institute, Chicago, Illinois, in the early 1940s. My mother was a Registered Nurse. My father had been recently discharged from the U.S. Navy. Both of them were eager to do the “Lord’s work.” For them, that meant serving the Lord as missionaries. They felt “called” to go to Argentina and preach the gospel mainly to Jews, God’s “chosen people.”
In Argentina, my parents struggled financially. Their mantra (especially my mother’s) was “God will provide.” That translated in my mind to “don’t ask for anything we cannot afford.” My parents’ income depended on God placing our needs on the hearts of people (mainly in the U.S.) who would then be moved to support our mission—the New Testament Missionary Union. Funds were divided among all the missionaries in the organization equitably, meaning the more children you had, the greater percentage of the available funds you received. It was never enough. My maternal grandmother, Jessie, often supplemented our income. I don’t remember ever going hungry, but I do recall appearing slovenly and disheveled—always an embarrassment. Except for my school uniform, the only clothes I wore were hand-me-downs or the ones Jessie sent from the U.S.
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Feminism and Religion 